We are Left to be Found
by knoxedfiction
Summary: After that season 5 opener, my Bethyl heart needed a little more! Here is a Beth POV on the complicated, hard, and beautiful discovery that you have to find yourself even after you've been found.
1. Chapter 1

It feels like a long dream.

From the second my body meets the car's interior to the moment my eyes find his is one long break from reality.

I want to run to him, to make sure the memories I've played and replayed in my mind are real.

Maggie's face pressed against me reminds me of home. And houses. He stands in the doorway of our new home, not an inch inside the frame. It's not faded, but rather a vivid gash in landscape; each time he passed through a doorway, and the time he took me with him. I blink away the memory and try to feel the warmth in Maggie's embrace.

Time passes through a long and endlessly tightening bind. Every opportunity I have to speak to him passes with a frustrating self-imposed silence. And then I realize it's not just me who is tongue-tied. His immovable mouth seems to have settled into a stone line, with me on the other side of it.

The silence is interrupted with memories. I wonder if I imagined the familiar comfort in his limbs, the hope in his eyes. But as I remember and re-remember, I am either very right or very wrong.

Like most worthwhile things, my desire to know is suppressed by fear.

I explain how I escaped to anyone who asks. I give the best explanation I can about the night I heard Daryl scream my name over the screeching tires. But there is something burning inside of me.

It happens at inconvenient times, convenient times, whenever. The common factor in it all is Daryl's mysterious and unreadable outline.

Soon, there are much more important and demanding things happening; the questions stop and they are replaced by distance and silence.

I wait amongst my thoughts, until one day it happens. An opportunity.

Maggie's eyes fill my vision, "Hey, how would you feel joining a run?" Her tone had a 'yes, you' ring to it and I'd be lying if I said it didn't fill me with a long-awaited satisfaction.

"Of course." Maggie's face splits into a smile.

"You'll be taking my place. I think Daryl said he wants to head out at sunrise." I nod to conceal my jump at his name.

"Anything special you want me to grab?" My voice is light, matching her teasing tone. No hint of my racing heartbeat

"A few pounds of chocolate should do." The joy in her features pulls on my suspicions.

"Oh, I see. You think you're letting me sit at the adult table, huh?" I laugh at the thought. Maggie shakes her head, but her blush gives her away.

"Just hard watching your baby sister grow up, is all." I watch her brow crease through the smile in her voice. I know without hearing her say it, that it's a lot harder not being able to watch someone grow at all.

I suck in air and try for a smile, "A few pounds of chocolate it is." Maggie laughs and turns to leave, "You sure you don't want me to come?"

"I'm sure." The electricity running through me is almost painful.

Later, when darkness fills my window pane, my mind blooms with memories. What use will they be to me, if I have imagined them? What comfort could they ever offer?

My eyes close, and I feel myself drifting.

His face from inside the coffin fills the void. His casual comfort. The unexpected warmth that had settled into his features. I can't be wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

When the sun hits the horizon, I can feel it in the back of my skull. My eyes open and I stretch out, staring at the beams above me.

This home, like all homes now, might be temporary, but I have grown to love it. It used to be an old farmhouse, and it reminds me of the life I used to live.

My room is basically an attic storage space. Much to Maggie and Glen's simultaneous concern and relief, I refused to share a room with them. Michone and I have matching 'rooms', separated by a narrow and low ceilinged hallway. The staircase is the kind you have to pull down with a string.

When we walked through the house, Michone had marched passed the rooms and pulled the staircase down with a steady hand, "I don't need much space." And as she disappeared above, I realized I didn't need much space either. Just distance.

Most of the items up here had been repurposed through the house, or used as kindle for the occasional fire. I was left with a cot, a two drawer nightstand, some blankets, a small candle, and a pile of books.

Somehow, my half of the attic looks like a 5 star hotel compared to Michone's. It doesn't matter much anyways; she's never up here.

I put on the cleanest clothes I have and brush out my hair before braiding it back. It's an effort made in vain, but at least I know that. I pack up my stuff and head out to the driveway of our temporary sanctuary.

The house is quiet and cold, and I do my best not to make too much noise. When I push open the front door his back is to me. The outline of his leather vest against the sunrise stills my thoughts.

"Hey." I interrupt his movement, and he jerks in my direction.

"Where's Maggie?" I can't tell the tone of his voice, so I decide it's inquisitive.

"She asked to sit this one out." I do my best to appear nonchalant. His face is void of emotion.

"Do you have your knife?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go." He hops into a beat up red truck and motions to the passenger door. This is it. I don't know if I expected a bow or wrapping paper, but this is what I've been waiting for. I open the door and pull myself up into the seat. He glances at me before igniting the engine.


	3. Chapter 3

Managing my expectations has been difficult as of late. I keep reminding myself that I can't skip ahead. I can't jump to the part where he tells me how right I was about him, or to the part where I finally get to show him exactly how he makes me feel.

Walking the aisles of the abandoned grocery store, I collect items in a half-broken basket. It's piling up, but it doesn't matter. We are just going to throw it in the back of the truck anyways.

As I browse the jams, I feel a wave of urgency wash over me. Raspberry or grape? To ask him or not to ask him? I toss in one of each and walk in his direction.

"Why have you stopped talking to me?" Remarkably he doesn't start at the sound of my voice from behind him.

"I haven't." He answers quickly. Too quickly. It occurs to me suddenly that maybe he's been thinking too.

"I thought-" I start and stop myself. Thought what? Now, in an aisle full of crackers, I don't know what I was thinking.

His eyes meet mine and I know for sure I won't be finishing my sentence. There is a rawness in him that makes me forget if I was upset at him to begin with.

"I ran after you." He speaks after a moment of silence. His eyes drop to his hands, my own filling at the sound of his voice. The memories of that night seep into me with vivid detail.

"I know." My voice cracks and I look away.

He doesn't speak again, although his responsiveness gives me courage.

"I didn't know if you were upset...about something. Anything. And that's why you were avoiding me."

"It's not like that."

"Then what's it like?" I can hear the desperation in my voice but I don't care.

He shuffles in place before taking a few steps towards the exit, away from me.

"I was ready to stay," he turns back, "ready to just wait until whoever had been stocking those cupboards showed up or never returned."

I try to nod but I don't know what it means.

He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs away from me, "You made it back without too many missing pieces... I just figured you'd want your old life back."

My old life.

"What life was that?" I ask. "The life where I had a father? A home to live in? Where the only thing I worried about in a day was getting my chores done or finishing my homework?"

He looks away from me and I feel my eyes blur.

"No one goes back to their old life." I manage to keep myself together long enough to leave the aisle, basket in hand. He doesn't call out for me and he doesn't follow me.

I grab whatever I can see through my narrowing vision, and throw the loot into the back of the truck. Once my back is against the passenger seat, door slamming shut to my right, I feel the tears run down my face.

Embarrassment washes over me. After everything I've been through, this is nothing. Except it isn't nothing. I don't know what I excepted him to say, or for me to say...it's stupid and I know it's stupid.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand and breathe in the stale air of the truck. After a few ragged pulls into my lungs, I press back into the seat.

It smells damp, so I crack open the window, staring out at the endless road. However long it takes him, I still jump when I hear the door swing open, his shape filling the door frame. He tosses a bottle of water in his seat, and I hear 'catch' a millisecond before I see a water bottle hurdling towards my face. I catch it badly, and whisper thanks as I turn away from him.

Daryl lifts his baskets into the back. The truck moves with each placement, loud clanging around me as he arranges our items.

When he settles into the truck (no seatbelt), I swear he pauses, but I'm too afraid to look at him. The engine starts and we take off down the road.

I remind myself that things could have gone worse, but it doesn't help. With an accepting exhale, I twist open the bottle and take a large gulp.

The ride is bumpy, and when the scenery becomes familiar, I stiffen in my seat. We pull into the driveway and I search my brain. This is it. This is my last chance. I wrack my brain but it's empty and unkind. Daryl pulls the keys out of the ignition and I can't stand it.

I move to open the door when his arm reaches across me and pulls it closed, his voice startling in the silence; "Wait."

My heart slows before it races ahead. The quiet of the truck assures me he can hear the blood beating against my chest. So I wait.

"It ain't easy for me." I wait for him to finish his sentence, and when he doesn't, I nod slowly to prompt him. He rests his arm on the windowsill, peering out and pulling a worn stick out of mouth. He tosses it at his feet and glances over at me.

"I didn't know what to say...or if you'd want me to say anything at all."

He is better at this stuff than he gives himself credit for. My face feels warm and I try to respond. I convince myself that I've come this far, I might as well be honest.

"I like talking to you." I say simply. His eyes are downcast, but I can see my answer settle inside him. I don't want to leave this truck. It's quiet and a familiar smell, his smell, fills my lungs.

It seems for the moment, he's happy to stay here too. He leans back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. The lines on his face smooth as his eyes flutter closed. Leaning against the seat, I face him. My eyes drift over the rise and fall of his chest.

I forget for a second that at any moment, our friends, our family, will spill out of the house, interrupting this perfect silence. My eyes close too as the exhaustion of honesty gathers in my chest.

"You should join my next time. Next time I head out." My eyes open at his offer, but his remain closed.

"I'd love to." The corner of his mouth lifts, and I smile, knowing he can't see me blush.


	4. Chapter 4

As I climb up the ladder I nearly freeze. There's someone up here. I can feel it. I press my back against the wall and pull out knife. It's not Michonne, she's out in the woods. I shake as I approach the makeshift door.

As I round the doorframe, I swear, "You scared me." It's a whisper, but I say it as harshly as I can. His outline is visible against the moonlight of the window.

"Can't sleep." He says it like it explains his presence.

"This your bed?" He continues when I remain silent and I look at the cot.

"Yeah." I drop my backpack to the floor and step into the room. It's big enough for me to sit cross legged in front of him.

"Is everything okay?" I can only just make out the features on his face, eyes fully adjusting.

He doesn't answer. Instead he just leans against the wall. The proximity is a little too much and I feel unnatural warmth spread over me. I shrug off my sweater and pull at the ends of my hair.

I hear him reach into jacket, and a small bottle emerges. That's when I smell it. Liquor. It's in the air, so I know the bottle isn't full. I can't tell what I think about Daryl making himself at home in my bedroom after drinking.

"Figured you could teach me another one of your games." I'm too stunned to respond, and when he begins handing me the bottle I clear my throat.

"I don't know too many." I stammer and grasp the dark coloured bottle.

He huffs in disbelief, "Make one up then." I laugh outright and try to catch his eyes.

"Okay...how about two truths and a lie?"

"Nah, I know that one."

"We could play the question game."

"Did you make that one up?"

"No."

"Seems like your at an advantage...how do you play it?"

"Well since it's just us, it might be more difficult...basically we can only speak to each other in questions. If you accidentally answer a question or hesitate too long, you take a drink."

"Seems simple enough." Daryl sits up and I place the bottle between us.

"How do we start?" He asks.

"Doesn't it seem like we've already started?" I emphasize my question and he laughs.

"Drink!" It comes out as a stage whisper. He presses the bottle against his lips and I watch his Adam's apple slide through the shadows.

"This is going to be harder then it looks, isn't it?" He starts.

"Wouldn't that depend on being a quick thinker?"

"Do you think you're smarter than me?" There's no malice in his voice.

"Do you think you can beat me?" My smile is cracking across my face.

"How many times have you seen me lose?" I balk at his confidence. After a beat, he raises a finger at me. I laugh, picking up the bottle and taking a hesitant sip. It tastes a lot better than the moonshine.

It's my turn to start, "Do you think you'll be able to catch me off guard again?"

"I hope so."

"That's not a question!" He smirks and grabs the bottle, the sincerity of his answer sets my nerves ablaze.

"What do you do all day up here?" He asks.

"What do bored apocalypse-survivors typically do?"

"Were you hoping to make some new friends?" He's trying to get me to answer.

"Wanna see how it's done?" I ask with a smile, but he doesn't miss a beat.

"Don't you think I've got enough friends?" The humour in his voice dances on my skin.

"Can anyone have too many friends?"

"Are you my friend?" I nearly choke and gently remind myself it's just a game.

"Do you want me to be your friend?" I answer as quickly as I can.

"What are the other options?" The heat is overwhelming, and I try to think of a response that isn't 'whatever you want them to be'. It's only romantic because I want it to be romantic. By the time I realize that it's just another question, it's way past a reasonable delay.

"Okay, okay...you've got me." I drink.

After a few rounds, I can feel the gentle warmth of the alcohol, creating a fine blur over everything, including my thoughts.

"What food do you crave the most?" I ask.

"What's not to crave?" His answer comes fast, and my head tilts to the side.

"What do you like about me?" His eyes narrow on me, but he's quick to answer.

"What's not to like?" He grins at himself and I press my tongue against my cheek to stop from laughing.

"Do you think you'd talk to me if the turn never happened?"

Daryl shifted, "I think the real question is would YOU have been willin' to talk to me?"

"Do you think we would have been friends?" Daryl pauses at my question before answering.

"I don't know." He takes a sip without being prompted and glances over me.

"Do you think you'd have been embarrassed to introduce my redneck ass to all your friends?" He asks with humour, but I imagine he cares how I reply.

"There's nothing embarrassing about you." I answer and take another sip, regretting it instantly. I don't get to watch him respond to me, as my eyes squeeze shut and I lean back against the floor.

"I think I drank too much." I mumble and I hear him shuffle.

"Bottles nearly empty anyways." I can feel him scoop my body and place me onto the cot; a small creak fills the space as my weight sinks into the worn fabric.

It feels like the world is spinning around me.

It makes me feel ill to open my eyes, and so I just keep them shut. A small smile creeps onto my face when I hear Daryl stretch out onto the floor.

"I think my friends would have liked you," I start, "you know, the older, mysterious, bad-boy type is always a hit."

"You calling me old?"

"I'm calling you interesting!" I laugh softly in the darkness, feeling the weight of sleep pull on me.

After a moment Daryl's voice floats around me, "I would have let you, you know. Let you introduce me to your friends."

"I like that you think I would have given you a choice." I can hear a huff of a laugh before I drift to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Tonight as I walk up the ladder to my attic sanctuary I know, instinctively, that he's there. The familiar rush fills me and I force myself to breathe.

"Make yourself at home why don't you." My mouth quirks up as I drop my bag.

He glances up at me from the floor and pulls a stick out of his mouth.

"You waiting on some other company?" He doesn't try to keep the tease out of his voice.

I sit in front of him. He glances over my face and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

"No bottle tonight?" I ask and motion to his empty hands. His face falls to the side as his lip twists. After a second he looks at me.

"Don't need it." He speaks with a sureness I nearly forgotten existed. I feel a flood of questions speed through my mind, but as I look at him, I know there's no question at all.

"Me either."

_To be continued… _


End file.
